Frost
by Rahar Moonfire
Summary: Jack Frost is the very embodiment of Winter. 100 years since his birth and no one has acknowledged him, spoken to him, touched him. Until one year, 1816 to be precise, he accidentally releases his powers and covers the globe in a year-long winter. He never knew such a thing could bring such attention to himself. But someone did notice. And that someone was fascinated.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Yes, I realize I've been an extreme hiatus and I sincerely apologize. Chalk it up to taking too many high level science classes for my major this semester. On the bright side, I'm updating now and plan on updating/editing most (hopefully) all of my on-going fics as a Christmas present to whatever readers are left. Probably not meany. ^^; Oh! And I finally got my Final grades for the semester. So excited.

World Geography: B

Online Landform Geography class: A

Landform Geography Lab: B

GIS & Mapping Science: B

Remote Sensing: B

That's 4 Bs and an A. Sp freakin' excited. But I digress.

I'm writing this fic as a fill for the RotG kinkmeme. I've never really done this sort of thing before, so please forgive me if I'm a bit off. I'm new to the fandom. This doesn't have any pairings as of yet, but has the potential to. I'm not sure which pairing at the moment though cuz I'm still working on this fic and plan to let the words flow as they will and let what wants to happen, happen. No matter what it is. ...Wow, that sounded poetic. Anywho, this fic will contain fills for several prompts on the kinkmeme because so many of them are so similar and are just screaming to be strung together into a long story. ...and because I wanted to. In the mean time, please tell me what you think.

That said, here's the first chapter. Ahem, I mean prologue...**  
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**Prologue**

There was silence this night. It was a gentle, calm silence broken only by the barely audible hiss of snow as it fell to the ground. Jack sat quietly in a nearby tree just listening. It was the dead of winter. No wind blew. Everything was calm and white.

He always loved nights like this. He could just sit and think. He didn't have to worry about being unseen by the humans. He didn't have to worry about why he was here. He could just sit quietly and stare. He was relaxed.

Lonely.

It had been almost one hundred years since he was created. The world had changed since his birth on that frozen lake in the middle of nowhere. Almost one hundred years since he had last been spoken to by anyone. No one heard him. No knew him. No one missed him. No one cared about him.

It hurt. Especially when he heard parents call after their children to bundle up against the cold so Jack Frost couldn't nip at their noses. But it was always laughed off. Just a saying. Nothing meaningful. Nothing real. Nothing… Just nothing.

He tried calling to the people, near the beginning. He tried calling, talking, whispering, begging, screaming, crying, weeping. All for naught. He had to watch as parents huddled against the cold, how children shivered in the factories, how animals hid under porches to escape the biting cold.

He felt cold. Cruel. Harsh. Lonely. Dark.

Not always, though.

Sometimes he could find joy in his existence. Sometimes he could start a snowball fight between children and, if he was especially lucky, some adults. But it never changed a thing. The humans would eventually grow tired of the game Jack started and go off back to their normal lives and, inevitably, move indoors. Scarves would be removed and hung up on pegs in the hallway, boots would be removed and stuffed in the corner by the front door to drip dry, chestnuts would be popped by the fireplace, trees would be decorated, and food would be prepared and eaten. All indoors. All inside. All where Jack Frost, the embodiment of winter in all its frozen cruelty, was not welcome.

But lately, he'd stopped trying to attract attention. He'd stopped trying to go inside homes where the joys of family life laid. He stopped trying to start snowball fights where previously there were none. He stopped causing breezes to blow up the uptight rich ladies' dresses. He stopped stealing men's hats forcing the poor humans to chase after them. He just stopped. There was no point. No point at all. None saw him. None heard him. None believed in him. None.

He was alone.

He'd heard stories of the Tooth Fairy, but he'd never seen her. He'd watch in shy curiosity when the Easter Bunny came to hide his eggs, always escaping before he was seen. And he often saw Father Christmas gliding through the sky on his sleigh. But they never acknowledged him. They never spoke to him. They never even tried to seek him out.

Instead he was just calm. Passive. Waiting. Hoping for a flame to rekindle the fire of joy he'd first experienced with his first breathe of life on this earth. But it hadn't come. He'd experience small sparks that had the potential to light this fire, only for it to dissipate with people's disbelief.

Instead, he resorted to gazing longingly through the windows, dreaming of a family and the affections that obviously came with it leaving frosty tell-tale fern-like designs on the windows. Instead, he was forced to stay outside, rejected and alone. Instead, he was forced to stand by while, inevitably, numerous lives, human and animal, were lost to his biting cold.

Recently, he'd come across a poor little girl struggling to sell matches to the arrogant humans who ignored her, rejected her, walked right passed her like she didn't exist. Like they did to him. So he sat with her and, even though she could neither see no hear him, he spoke to her, sang to her, breathed on her. And she died. Peacefully, in her sleep. He did not make her suffer. She knew what he suffered. How could he force her to suffer further? He was not heartless.

Yet.

Blinking, Jack came back to himself. The snow had stopped falling for the moment as the clouds above dissipated just enough for a small amount of moonlight to peak through and reach his small, solitary figure in the pine tree far above the ground.

He considered asking the Man in the Moon again why he was here. What was his purpose. But stopped. He knew he would only be greeted by silence. He was always greeted by silence. In was inevitable.

Crunch.

Instantly, Jack was alert. His ice blue eyes scanning the ground for the source of the noise. Then the noise came again, and his attention was drawn to the right. There, just below the eaves of a nearby tree was a small child, no older than seven. The poor thing wore barely enough clothes to be considered decent in this day and age, let alone hold back the chill.

Sadness. A common emotion.

Silently as the snow falling, Jack floated down to the frozen ground and stared at the freezing child. His hand tighten imperceptibly on his staff. He could feel this little one's light waver. It wouldn't be long now. He looked into the child's eyes and saw fear, pain, and despair. Emotions so similar to his.

The flame flickered weakly as the child stumbled and fell into a snow drift and Jack sighed. Silently, Jack watched the child struggle to all fours only to sit down and huddle meekly against the nearby tree. Kneeling before the child, he stared at the pale face so alike his own. He felt the flame flicker once more as slowly, ever so slowly, the cold continued to seep into the child's body freezing away the oh-so-important body heat essential to human life.

He sighed once more and whispered so quietly that even had the child been able to hear him, it would have gone unheard. "Forgive me."

Gently, ever so gently, Jack pressed his frozen blue lips to the child's quivering mouth. And instantly, gently, the quivering stopped, as did the tiny, fluttering heart. And the tiny, flickering flame died.

A small tear slipped unnoticed down a frozen cheek. What may have been a quiet sob escaped frozen lips. Even the earth seemed to morn. Clouds of ash erupted from mountains of fire. Natural clouds clumped together and darkened, joining with the false clouds. And the snow began to fall once more. And it fell.

And fell.

And fell.

And fell.

All Winter it fell. All Spring it fell. All through Summer it fell. All through Autumn it fell. And that year, 1816, went down in history as the Year Without a Summer.

Looking back on it, allowing his powers to take full control of the globe for an entire ear wasn't the best idea. But once started, nothing could stop it. Many found joy in the long winter. Many died. But most importantly, someone noticed. Someone heard the dissident sobs echo faintly on the howling gusts. Someone noticed there was an existence that had been overlooked. And that someone was fascinated.


	2. Visible Frost

**A/N: **Merry Christmas! ^_^**  
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**Visible Frost  
**

Frost swirled delicately across the surface of windows in the mountain neighborhood. Snow blanketed the land; trees glittered in the cloudy sunlight in the valleys and the clear setting light on the mountaintops. Jack sat on a craggy peak watching the sun set in the western horizon. A sea of clouds flowed through the mountain valleys like a foggy river.

When the sun finally set completely, Jack pulled his brown cloak around him and curled around his shepherd's crook. Stars were beginning to twinkle in the night sky but the moon was dark. It was a silent, cold, wintery night.

Jack sighed as he once again reviewed the past year in his mind. He'd never meant to allow his powers to run as wild as they did. It was like he had unwittingly opened the doors to a raging river that was suddenly much more intense then he'd originally thought possible. His powers ran wild and no matter how hard he tried to reign them in, all he got was a migraine and nausea in return. Until, finally, he just gave up fighting it and hid while the unprecedented winter ran its course.

"You really shouldn't feel bad. It was truly an impressive show."

Jack immediately spun around in his seat searching for the speaker. Probably a human preparing to set up camp after a long hike. Nothing to worry about. But something about that voice, the smooth way the syllables slipped off the tongue and caressed his ears didn't, well, _feel_ human. It felt…different. Gentle.

Ice blue eyes cast about for the owner of the voice and found nothing. Just hard, cold rocks, stunted trees that were the only growth at this altitude, and the night sky. Slowly, he stood, his staff held loosely in his hand, waiting.

"Why do you not speak? You were screaming all through the storm. Why are you silent now? Have you lost your voice?"

A shadow moved and gently took form as a humanoid figure appeared where before there was only sky and rock. Jack's first urge was to call on the wind and flee, but then he realized he was being spoken to. He was being _spoken_ to. _He_ was being spoken to.

"Can you…see me?" he whispered.

Silence. No wind blew for several seconds. There was just silence as the shadow figure tilted his head, golden –_golden!-_ eyes glittered in curiosity, and a half smile tugged at pale ash-grey lips. "Yes," the shadow replied quietly, "I can see you. Is that so surprising?"

The boy could hardly believe his ears, or eyes. Never in all his years of existence had he ever seen or heard of a being such as the one that now stood before him. But this being, it…he…saw him. Spoke to him. _Answered_ him.

Since his birth, Jack had dreamed of this day. He had always imagined himself smiling brightly at the hoped for revelation and dancing around in absolute joy and amazement. He had always imagined himself leaping about and jumping on his first believer.

But here, now, he could barely _believe_ his senses let alone _react_ to them properly. Now he could only stare at this shadow, this person, this believer in shocked confusion. He blinked, took a deep breath and started to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. Instead, his eyes began tearing up and his lips broke into a shy, uncertain smile.

"Really?" he whispered. "R-" he licked his chapped lips, "really?"

The shadow man tilted his head forward in a nod. "I can."

Jack was speechless. He barely noticed when he stepped forward once, twice, until he was chest-to-chest with the shadow. Hesitantly, he reached out so his hand came into view. Young, slender, pale fingers stretch out gingerly for the grey face before him, never breaking eye contact with those golden eyes. For a moment, the fingers froze centimeters away from contact before the middle finger reached out and brushed again smooth, warm skin followed closely by the others.

The pads of Jack's fingers tingled on contact until his palm touched skin as well, then Jack's entire arm tingled and his heart fluttered. Solid. This shadow was solid. He could touch it. He gasped and smiled as tears slipped down his cheeks and a weak laugh escaped his lips. "You're real."

Golden eyes narrowed and a frown formed on the shadow man's lips, but he did move away. Instead, he tilted his head to the side pressing closer to Jack's palm. "I'm real, yes."

Golden eyes studied the pale blue counterparts belonging to this young boy spirit in barely contained surprise. How could a spirit of such power be so surprised to see another spirit. Was this spirit a newborn? True, as an outsider, the shadowy man would not be necessarily alerted to the birth of a new spirit, the annoying Guardians should know. Those high-and-mighty spirits always made it a point to at least introduce themselves to all new spirits. Unless they didn't know.

Now there was a thought.

"Am I the first one to speak to you?" the shadow asked.

The boy nodded.

"Am I the first spirit you've met?"

Awe still filled those huge baby blue eyes, but the bright smile faded slightly as a small, shaky voice whispered, "Yes."

The shadowy spirit's mouth opened in surprise before he managed to recover. "Do you have a name, child?"

The investigating hands paused on the elder spirit's grey toned chest and those young, awestruck eyes lowered shyly. Curiously, a flicker of frost covered already pale cheeks as the youth replied, "Jack Frost."

Jack Frost. There were myths in the Scandinavian lands of a winter spirit named Jokul Frosti that went back centuries. Not young then, just abandoned. But that left a curious question. If Jack Frost had indeed exists for centuries, then why was he only now becoming known to other spirits? It made no sense.

"When were you born?"

Jack's cheeks frosted again –such a curious thing- and said, "A little over a century ago. The Moon told me my name, but that's it. Nothing else."

The Moon. So, Man in the Moon created this young spirit, fashioning him after an ancient myth. That's a lot of weight to carry on such slender shoulders. And if there truly was no communication after the giving of a name, then that would also explain the boy's shyness and confusion.

The shadow smiled, pearly teeth flashing. "Well met, Jack Frost. I am Pitch Black. I am the protector of fear."

Jack raised his eyes to meet Pitch's with open confusion. "Fear needs protecting?"

Pitch nodded gravely. "Indeed. Fear is essential to life. It prevents a person from doing something stupid and life threatening. It forces a person to think before they act, although it's ultimately up to them whether or not to follow the warning. Fear also explores things the mind would otherwise prefer not to think about. Fear of the unknown or unaccepted. One must master fear in order to survive, but not abandon it. Thus, where I come in. I give haunt the shadows in closets, under beds, in dark rooms, and in unfamiliar places. The child must learn to conquer their fears, or they will be ruled by them."

Baby blue eyes bulged. "Wow. So you're important."

Pitch shrugged. "I'm glad someone thinks so. The Guardians would certainly disagree with you, as would most of humanity."

The youth's slender shoulders slumped. "So people can't see you either, huh?"

"No. A few still can, but hardly enough to be considered significant. Even those who know of me don't necessarily believe in me. They believe in the concept, not me."

Silence.

"Could-"

Pitch folded his hands calmly behind his back, waiting for Jack to continue.

"Could I come with you? Please? I'm just so sick of being alone and invisible. I won't be any trouble, I promise. I just want someone to know I'm there and who'll talk to me and-"

"Yes."

"-listen to me and… What?"

"I said, yes. You may come if you wish."

Instantly, it was as if all the weight lifted from Jack's shoulders and he stood straighter and smiled brighter than he ever had before. Before Pitch had time to react, the young, lanky, energetic spirit latched himself onto him yelling, "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Pitch flailed briefly at the sudden weight gain and loss of balance before regaining his footing and suffering Jack's enthusiasm. Hopefully he wouldn't live to regret this.


	3. Early Frost

**A/N:** I probably should have mentioned this before. But there was no blizzard of note on any Easter Sunday on any '86 year through Jack's life. However, there was a rather large blizzard and subsequent harsh winter that crippled the entire American prairie in 1868-87.

I'm going to use this as the supposed 'Blizzard of '68.' My headcanon is that as immortals, actual dates don't necessarily matter. And when they do, the numbers can sometimes be mixed up. It happens to me often enough, so...*shrugs* Why not?

**EDIT 2/24 11:30pm**: Also, user **ICCQ**, _please_ enable your PM function so I can reply to your reviews. I want to thank you for pointing out my timeline mixup. I was planning on using the other winter from 1786-87 in another fic but put it in here instead. Don't bounce between writing two stories at the same time. It's stupid and you can get easily confused. Thank you for pointing out my error so I could fix it. ^^;

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**Early Frost**

It had been years since that fateful day. And though there were time Pitch missed his peace and quiet, he never regretted inviting the young winter spirit to join him. Loneliness of the kind he and Jack shared was not something he would ever wish on his worst enemies.

Although he was considering accompanying Jack on his latest excursion. Apparently, the boy had been trying to break into North's toy factory and had so far been unsuccessful. And while a part of him was amused at the boy's tenacity and refusal to give up, he also understood the pain of repeated rejection. So when a dejected Frost had asked him for a ideas about what to do with winter, how could he refuse?

And thus, why he was outside standing on the frozen solid prairie admiring the frantic scene as farmers rushed into to their homes to escape the oncoming blizzard. Their fear and frustration was a breath of fresh air. While they may not have been able to see him, he could definitely feed on their fear and doubts. Oh he would so enjoy trying his hand on manipulating his freshly pilfered dreamsand, perhaps he'd succeed in creating nightmares.

Speaking of nightmares, Jack Frost appeared out of seemingly nowhere and hovered in front of his face. His brilliant smile gleamed too bright for Pitch who merely raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Jack tumbled back through the air with laughter. "Indeed! You should see their faces. They thought the winter would come slower than it did. Who do they think I am? A ghost? I sure showed them."

Pitch grinned indulgently. "So I see. The fear you've inspired is quite fresh as well. And for that, I suppose I should thank you."

Jack smiled and landed lightly on the ice, twirling his staff happily. "Are you going to try using the black sand tonight?"

"Mm. Hopefully it will turn out well, but I admit I am no dreamweaver. But if all goes as planned, then I may not need to create anything. The sand should create the dreams all on its own. All I'll have to do is focus the dreams on fears instead of hope and joy." He noticed the youth shuffle his feet nervously. "Something wrong?"

Jack glanced up. "It won't hurt them. The nightmares, I mean. It won't hurt them, will it?"

Ah Jack, ever the sensitive one. "No Jack. It won't hurt. They may not even remember if they dreamed or not. Dreams actually only last maybe a couple seconds at most."

"Really?" Jack asked, surprised and interested. "But it feels like forever."

Pitch chuckled. "Yes, that is because dream logic is different from real logic. Time is relative. Dreams don't happen sequentially. They often will skip around without the dreamer actually realizing it. They simply accept the time skips as normal."

"So if I wanted to be in, say, Antarctica right now, I would just suddenly be there?" the frost spirit asked excitedly as he leapt up to perch birdlike on the crook of his staff.

"Indeed," Pitch confirmed with a nod. "You would never think to question it because such things are normal there."

Jack tilted his head in thought. "That actually sounds interesting. Can I watch tonight?"

Pitch shrugged. "I suppose. As long as you're quiet and don't distract me."

"Deal!"

And so night fell and Jack Frost found himself standing in the bedroom of a young boy who's window was freshly frosted over and the candle was burning low. A soft, golden glow emanated from the Sandman's dreamsand hovering above the child's head.

Jack stood back by the window and watched silently as Pitch Black strode forward and studied the golden sand. Slowly, he reached his grey toned hand and touched the sand. For a moment, his brow creased in concentration as he slowly, steadily bent the sand to his will. Strands gold darkened until the entire golden rivulets were an iridescent black.

The black swirled around the Boogeyman's fingers as if identifying them as its creator before settling into a tiny, slender horse. Pitch smiled gently as if the creature was his child, which in a sense, it was. It snorted as gentle hands slipped through the strands of it mane.

Jack didn't even notice he'd moved forward until the Nightmare looked directly at him. It stepped forward and stretched out its neck to snuffle curiously at Jack's outstretched palm.

"Easy," Pitch warned.

The nightmare snorted again, then pressed against Jack's palm, nuzzling against his cool skin. Jack smiled in surprised joy which quickly became fear as the sand suddenly burst apart and swirled about. Jack jumped back and hid behind Pitch who calmly watched the swirling sand with a raised eyebrow.

When the sand reformed, it no longer resembled a horse by any means. It now had shaggy, black sand fur and a wagging tail. A wolf.

Pitch blinked and turned to glance at his young companion. "Curious. It would seem this Nightmare has imprinted on you. Treat it well, and it will be the most loyal creature in existence."

Cautiously, Jack peered out from behind the Nightmare King's dark robes to stare at the wolf Nightmare that was now sitting obediently with its head cocked to the side as if waiting for a command...or for attention. If it was a wolf, then it was a dog, and dogs liked being petted. ...right?

Hesitantly, he reached out to the Nightmare that seemed the scoot towards him, a tiny, black tongue slipping out as if waiting to give kisses. Then his fingers touched the soft sand and the Nightmare pushed back into his palms, tail wagging, and tongue licking.

It was so surprisingly warm and welcoming, Jack couldn't help but smile and scratch the Nightmare behind the ears. He giggled as the Nightmare rolled over on its back so Jack could scratch its belly.

Pitch simply watched in fascination. He wasn't expecting the Nightmare to imprint on the winter spirit, let alone change its form from the usual horse to something else. He had never seen a Nightmare ever change its form unless he specifically asked it to. Perhaps he could work with this.

But with the Nightmare he was going to use now under Jack Frost's control, he would have to delay his plans somewhat. A minor setback considering this Frost-brought winter should last well into the next year, he would have plenty of time to relax, create more Nightmares, and let the people's fears grow.

A long, winter as deep and cold as this one promised to be should definitely birth some basic fears. After all, this nation was young, and still fresh from its Civil War. Naturally, soldiers would still dream of guns, death, and pain. Families would dream of finding food, warmth, and money to pay for their survival. Children would dream of lost parents and grandparents from the war as well as anything else they feared at the moment. Children were always much more receptive to nightmares, their little minds always finding something to fear.

He could afford to wait, especially if Jack Frost kept acting as adorably cute as he currently was, then it was worth it.

But that Nightmare...

Jack was no dreamweaver. Not by any stretch of the imagination. So why then did a Nightmare created by twisted, darkened dreamsand choose him as its master? It made no sense.

Not yet.

Well, now Pitch had a new puzzle to work with while biding his time. At least it would help relieve his boredom somewhat. He always did enjoy puzzles. But then, with a wild Nightmare on the loose, it would become a bit more difficult to keep his growing power from the Guardians' eyes. So two things to keep him busy.

Let the winter of 1886 begin.

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**A/N:** Well, I hope that was satisfactory. We should be meeting out very first Guardian next chapter if everything works out right. I post as I write, so when a new chapter comes out for any/all of my fics, it means I literally just wrote it just moments ago. So...yeah... Also, I have not Beta, so I edit everything. Which explains most of my mistakes: grammar, spelling, etc.


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